


Horror Galorror

by stubbornbones



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), House of Wax (2005), Laid to Rest (2009), Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008), The Boy (2016 Bell), The Collector Series (Movies), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Implied Smut, Multi, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubbornbones/pseuds/stubbornbones
Summary: Collection of drabbles, HCs, and various other requests from my horror movie tumblr, slashhinginghasher.Yes, I've become one of THOSE people
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	1. Slashers' Reaction To Getting Sprayed With A Hose

**Author's Note:**

> I will do my level best to keep the reader gender neutral where applicable
> 
> I do not own any of the images used in this work

**JESSE CROMEANS**

  * You just wanted to do something nice and wash your boyfriend’s car
  * But you should know by now that you can never have nice things around Jesse (except for the Gucci shades, Versace wardrobe, tropical vacations… okay you have a lot of nice things but you know what I’m getting at)
  * Florida is _hot_ , it makes perfect sense that you’d wanna wash the car in your bathing suit
  * Except now Jesse is leering at you and signing _very_ suggestive and _distracting_ things while you’re trying to work
  * “You know, I was just doing this to be _nice_!” you snap, hands on your hips
  * “ _You missed a spot,”_ Jesse signs, looking pointedly at your chest
  * You follow his gaze, a wicked idea forming in your head
  * “Ah, so I did.”
  * You lift the hose and spray him directly in the chest
  * _BITCH THIS SUIT IS DRY-CLEAN ONLY_
  * Your hysterical laughter is cut short when he slams you down on the car hood
  * The car isn’t gonna be the only thing that needs hosing down when he’s done with you



**BO SINCLAIR**

  * Another day in Ambrose, another day of Bo yelling at you for god knows what
  * Honestly, you weren’t even sure _what_ you had done wrong this time
  * Bo’s face was turning red, and you eyed the throbbing vein in his forehead with detached concern
  * You walk past him and out the front door
  * “Where the hell are you goin’? Don’t fuckin’ walk away when I’m talkin’ to you!”
  * You ignore him, strolling over to the side of the house where the spigot is
  * Bo rounds the corner like an angry bull and is greeted with a hose on full-throttle directly to the face
  * “What the _fuck_ was that for?!” he splutters
  * Water drips from the brim of his hat
  * “Thought you could use some help cooling off,” you say
  * _Run_



**THOMAS HEWITT**

  * Summers in Texas are like living in an oven
  * You’d been working in the garden for hours and were grossly sweaty
  * Cue Thomas walking up to find you standing under the hose like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance
  * You almost drop the hose when you finally look up from your watery heaven
  * “Oh, hey, Thomas.” 
  * _Blink._
  * “Want some?”
  * _Drip._
  * Thomas seems mesmerized by the way your shirt is plastered to your skin.
  * “Thomas.”
  * _Blink._
  * “Thomas?”
  * _Drip._
  * You’re worried you may have short-circuited the boy
  * So you do the only logical thing and spray him
  * Thomas leaps about three feet in the air, startled out of his trance
  * When he realizes he’d been staring, his face turns tomato red and he books it for the house
  * You shrug. His loss.



**BRAHMS HEELSHIRE**

  * All you wanted to do was the damn dishes
  * You’d just gotten the sink filled up with suds when two sweater-clad arms wrapped around you like a vise
  * “Not now, Brahms, I just started doing the dishes.”
  * He hugs tighter
  * “It’ll take 20 minutes tops, I promise.”
  * He whines.
  * “Seriously, the longer you keep this up, the longer it’ll take me.”
  * He rubs against you.
  * “Brahms, I said NOT NOW!”
  * You grab the faucet and spritz him in the face
  * He recoils instantly
  * You SPRAY Brahms?? You spray him like the naughty cat??
  * “Look, I’m sorry, but I really just need to get this done and then we can-”
  * _SPLASH_
  * Faceful of sink water
  * “ _Ouch_ , you ASSHOLE, that’s _soapy_!”
  * Brahms flees to the safety of the walls before you can retaliate
  * Serves you right



**ASA EMORY**

  * Don’t




	2. Stargazing With the Slashers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TENDER BOI HOURS

##  **Bo Sinclair**

You knew it bothered Bo sometimes ( ~~a lot of the time~~ ) that he couldn’t take you on a real date. Real dates required money and proximity to interesting things, both of which were in short supply in Ambrose. You honestly couldn’t give a shit - you had Bo, what else could you need? - but it chafed his pride, being unable to provide something that even pimple-faced teenagers could do.

He also got defensive if you ever tried to make suggestions, so you had to be sneaky about it. You’d casually mention how your sister’s high school boyfriend had taken her stargazing, had packed a little midnight picnic, and how it was one of her favorite dates, and if Bo got inspired, then it was obviously due to the powers of his mighty intellect and creativity.

(It had actually been _your_ high school boyfriend, but Bo didn’t need to know that. He was a jealous man; comparing him to another guy, however inadvertently, would not end well.)

So now you were cuddled up in the bed of his truck, which had been transformed into a nest of blankets. Miles from the nearest town, there was almost no light pollution, and the night sky was as crisp and clear as you’d ever seen it. The two of you had talked about this and that, nursed a few beers, eventually winding up flat on your backs, a position you rarely found yourself in with Bo unless you were asleep or…

_Ah, yes, there it is._

A touch of lips on your neck, hot but fleeting, sent tingles across your skin. Bo pressed a few more kisses to your neck and jaw before sucking on that spot that drove you wild. At the sound of your blissful sigh, he raised himself up on his forearms to hover over you.

“Bo,” you scolded teasingly, “you’re blocking the view.” He flashed his signature smirk, equal parts sexy and infuriating.

“I _am_ the view, baby.” You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“Swear to god, Sinclair,” you grumbled, fighting back a grin, “one of these days I’m gonna kick your ass.”

But you didn’t complain when he lowered his lips to yours.

##  **Jason Voorhees**

Jason hated the lake, but he hated the idea of you wandering around alone at night more, so when you announced that you were going to go stargazing on the dock, he insisted on joining you. But now that you were actually _there_ , you could tell he was starting to regret his decision a little. The sounds of chirping insects and the gentle lapping of the lake were almost enough to lull you to sleep. Jason, by contrast, was as stiff as the boards he lay on.

Your heart gave a painful little squeeze. You hated seeing him so unhappy. You almost wanted to tell him to head back to the cabin, but were afraid he’d think you didn’t want his company. Instead, you reached over and took his hand.

“See those three stars?” you said, pointing with your other hand. “The ones in a straight line? That’s Orion’s belt. He was a mighty hunter. So mighty that the gods put him in the sky to live forever after he died on Earth.” You felt Jason relax, just a little. Encouraged, you pointed to a bright star near the Belt. “And that’s Sirius, his dog.”

You pointed out other constellations and stars you knew: the Big and Little Dippers, the North Star, the Seven Sisters, Betelgeuse. You told him the stories behind their names, which were probably half wrong, but he’d never know or care. Soothed by the touch of your hand and the soft sound of your voice, the tension slowly seeped out of Jason’s body until all thoughts of drowning were replaced by the stars, and you.

Maybe the lake wasn’t so bad after all.

##  **Asa Emory**

Asa wasn’t doing a lot of things right now. He wasn’t letting the dogs spend extra time out of their kennel because the brush of their noses against your hands made you smile. He wasn’t thinking about how cute the way your furrowed your brow in concentration was as you pored over star charts and fiddled with lens focus dials. And he definitely wasn’t admiring how great your ass looked in those jeans.

Nope. _Definitely_ wasn’t doing that.

He’d bought you the telescope on a whim, which in Asa’s world meant after _weeks_ of research instead of _months_. You were something of an amateur astronomer; the intricate mathematics of orbits and light refraction escaped you, but you’d always loved the stars. Childhood trips to the planetarium, camping trips in the mountains, an epic road trip once to view a solar eclipse. The sky was your happy place. Asa was your happy place, too, but he wasn’t always around. The stars were, every night without fail.

You’d lit up like the sun when he’d set the heavy box in front of you with zero comment or explanation. You’d squealed and thrown your arms around him, and if you’d been looking at his eyes, you’d have seen something that almost looked like tenderness.

Now you were set up in Asa’s backyard, searching for Jupiter. It was trickier than you expected - there was a _lot_ of sky - but excitement tempered your frustration. You had read the telescope’s user manual cover to cover - _twice_ \- and pulled up maps of the night sky from no fewer than four different sites. You never half-assed things you cared about, a trait that Asa both understood and admired.

“Asa!” you shrieked. “Asa, I’ve found it! You’ve gotta see this!” You’re practically bouncing with excitement as he peers through the eyepiece. “Do you see that little dot near the middle? That’s Io, one of the moons.” Asa nods, stepping back and allowing you to resume your admiration of the distant planet. As you continue to gush over the cloud bands, the Great Red Spot, the tiny moons, a faint smile appears on his lips. Perhaps he’ll start acting on his whims more frequently in the future.

##  **Thomas Hewitt**

**“** Mama? D’you think Thomas and I could have the night off tomorrow? There’s gonna be a meteor shower and I wanna show him.” You and Luda Mae are working through a mountain of dishes side by side at the kitchen sink.

“How’d you know it’s gonna happen tomorrow?” Luda Mae asks.

“It comes every year around this time,” you reply. “My daddy and I used to watch it every summer when I was little. I just thought Tommy might like to see it.” Luda Mae’s face softens. Playing on her motherly tendencies does that.

“Well, ain’t that sweet. Course you can, dear.” She shakes a wooden spoon at you. “And don’t let Tommy give you no for an answer. That boy works too hard as it is.”

-

The Texas heat is a lot more bearable when the sun is down. You and Thomas are propped up on the rusty hood of one of the wrecked cars that dot the lawn. He’d been confused when you pulled him towards the front door after dinner, but a sharp look from Luda Mae quelled any protest he might have made.

“Look!” You grab Thomas’s arm as a thin streak of white flashes across the sky. More and more meteors fill the sky, until they’re coming nearly every minute. You ooh and aah over the brighter ones, oblivious to the fact that your hand is still gripping Thomas’s arm.

Thomas, on the other hand, is _very_ aware of your warm skin on his.

“This was always my favorite part of the year,” you sigh after a particularly bright meteor. “I always wished on shooting stars and there’s so many of them now, I figure if I wished for the same thing on each one, at least one of them’s gotta work, you know?” You glance over at Thomas and are once again struck breathless, this time by the intensity in his blue eyes. Your cheeks heat and you return your gaze to the sky, moving your hand away from his arm.

An hour or more passes, the silence between growing thicker with each minute. You’re beginning to wonder if you made a mistake, if Thomas really didn’t want to be here with you.

A large, tentative hand brushes your cheek with aching tenderness, turning your face back to Thomas. He seems to be steeling himself for something, and before you can ask what’s wrong, he leans over and brushes his lips against yours. The kiss is chaste, but it sets your heart racing, and when you lay a hand on Thomas’s chest, you can feel his galloping along as well. It’s an eternity and an instant before he pulls back, slowly.

“Wow,” you whisper with a smile as bright as a shooting star. “It came true.”


	3. Jesse Cromeans With A Feisty S/O Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requests open? Yahoo! Can you write Jesse Cromeans with a feisty and sarcastic s/o? SFW OR NSFW whichever you prefer. ❤️

  * A match made in heaven (or hell, if you ask any of the people who have to spend time around you two)
  * Everyone knows Jesse is the CEO of being a little shit, so finding someone who can match him jab for jab is _delightful_
  * If you’re short, he’ll find your fiery attitude adorable, like a kitten trying to square up against a bull mastiff. He will inform you of this comparison. Often.
  * You’ll want to learn to sign. Jesse hates having to keep taking his eyes off you to write out his responses.
  * You’ll also need to learn how to read Jesse’s moods very quickly, as they will determine whether your next sarcastic remark will end in witty banter, you being bent over the nearest flat surface, or you not being able to sit for a week.
  * _Roughhousing_. Jesse is a big fan of full-contact sports. ;) So tackle him, jump on his back, climb him like a tree.
  * Pretty much the only time Jesse is at a disadvantage is during sex (it’s hard to sign properly with your hands full of ass or titty, after all). Over time, the two of you will probably develop your own touch-based type of signing, but in the interim, he’ll either gag you or edge you until the only word you can say is _please_.
  * If you two ever decide to tie the knot, you’ll want to go for a non-traditional wedding, because your wedding vows will probably turn into an hour-long comedy roast.
  * Don’t joke about his face. It’s a perpetually painful subject, and if you try to make light of it he _will_ shut that shit down immediately. That said, if you have any hard limits or insecurities when it comes to joking around, he will fully respect them.



Bonus:

  * Spann thinks you’re hilarious, as long as you don’t turn your sass on her. She also appreciates that Jesse now has you to talk shit about his employees to so he’ll stop blowing up her phone and she can actually get some work done.
  * Preston can’t stand you. The fact that you once left him floundering for a response in front of a room full of people has _nothing_ to do with it, obviously.




	4. Spicy Repo! Headcanons: Graverobber and the Largo Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if u did sets of nsfw headcannons for Graverobber + the largo siblings...... I am thirsty™️

**Graverobber:**

  * Not an exhibitionist, but he loves to fuck in places where there’s a high risk of being caught.
  * (He’s definitely stuck his hand down your pants while you two were hiding from the cops.)
  * His biggest fantasy is to break into the Largo mansion and rail you in every room.
  * He’s a talker during sex, and I don’t mean dirty talk. This is a man who will start dropping puns while balls-deep in you.
  * The definition of “down for whatever”. You wanna top? Sure. You wanna tie him up? You son of a bitch, I’m in. You want him to choke you with one of his 10,000 belts? A little weird but he’ll give it a shot.
  * Very good with his hands. ;)
  * Honestly? At the end of the day, this boy just wants to be loved. Most of the people who proposition him are just trying to get drugs out of him; he’d like to spend some time with a person who wants him for _him_ , whether it’s romantic or a friends with benefits type thing.



**Luigi Largo**

  * No surprise, Angy Boy is into hardcore BDSM.
  * You’d better pick a safe word and set your hard limits before you even reach for his pants, because he is going right up to that line.
  * Impact play? Check. Pain play? Check. Knife play? Check. Blood play? Check.
  * He has a huge praise kink, but in the sense that he wants you to tell him he’s better than everyone else. Call him a good boy? You’re probably getting slapped. Tell him he could beat every single dude in the room in a fight? Insta-nut.
  * “ _I will find a hole and fuck it. If there ain’t one, I will make one.”_ Literally self-explanatory.
  * Despite the attitude, he’s surprisingly good at aftercare.
  * Secretly, he just wants to be cuddled. If you so much as hint at this, you will die, and it will hurt.



**Amber Sweet**

  * FEM. DOM.
  * Whatever you do, it’s because she _lets_ you, and you will never forget it.
  * This is a million-dollar designer pussy, and you will respect it as such.
  * She wants to be worshiped. Crawl for her, beg for her touch, wax poetic about every inch of her body.
  * Roleplay! Amber will go out and get a new face just to play out a particular fantasy of hers. Surgeon/patient is one of her favorite scenes, unsurprisingly.
  * Real boss bitches fuck on their late dad’s desk in his penthouse office.
  * She’s also into salirophilia. She thinks you look so pretty with your clothes all torn, hair disheveled and lipstick smeared across your face.
  * Amber has no problem with exhibitionism, but only at exclusive clubs. The general public is not _worthy_ of laying eyes on her ass (or yours).



**Pavi Largo**

  * Brattiest pillow princess bitch you’ve ever met
  * You’ve already been blessed with his presence, what do you mean you want him to do _work_ too?!
  * Sorry babe, but if you wanna cum, you’ve gotta take care of it yourself or trick him into it.
  * Pavi keeps the faces of his best lays (and some of Luigi and Amber’s) and wears them when he’s feeling _sensual_. He might make you wear one during sex, too.
  * He wants to be surrounded with beautiful things, so he’s actually the most generous gift-giver in the family. Designer clothes, expensive makeup, jewels for days, all the surgeries you want. If people aren’t dropping drinks and running into doors whenever you walk into a room, he clearly hasn’t done enough.




	5. Nocturnal Encounters - Brahms Heelshire x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooh what about a Drabble of Brahms falling in love with reader bc she’s nice to him and not freaked out when she meets the ‘real’ him?

t wasn’t supposed to happen like this. To happen so _soon_. Brahms hadn’t had a _plan_ , per se, but there was a _process_ to this, a sort of boiling of the frog, if you will. An _escalation_ that had to happen with the doll before he’d even _think_ about showing himself. But it was only a couple of weeks into your stay at Heelshire Manor and you were both staring at each other from across the darkened kitchen - Brahms with his dinner from the ice box, you with your empty water glass in need of refilling - and it was the middle of the night and Brahms didn’t know if he should run and hide or chase you down to keep you from bolting for the door and _oh god_ what if you screamed?

You blinked owlishly at the tall, masked figure standing frozen with a plate of leftovers in his large hand. You supposed you should be frightened, what with the strange man in the house and all, but you felt oddly calm. There was something familiar about that porcelain face, something that reminded you of…

“Brahms?”

The sound of your sleepy voice startled Brahms so badly he nearly dropped his plate.

“Brahms, is that you?” You reached out and flipped on the light, both of you blinking and squinting in the sudden brightness. Brahms ducked his head and hunched his shoulders like he was trying to disappear into his cardigan, the very image of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, his heavy breaths echoing loudly through his mask. Now you were going to scream, you were going to run, you were going to call him a freak and threaten to call the police, you were going to _reject_ him…

You laughed.

It was a breathy sound, more relief than humor. All of the tension seemed to flow out of you like a wave, weakening your knees so you had to lean a hand against the kitchen counter.

 _I’m not losing my mind after all,_ you thought, and chuckled again. Then you straightened and placed your hands on your hips with all the authority you could muster in your sleepy body.

“What are you doing down here, Brahms? You should be in bed.”

“I…” Brahms’ eyes darted to the plate of food.

“If you were hungry, you should’ve eaten when I made dinner earlier,” you scolded gently. “Come on, it’s time for good boys to go to sleep.” When Brahms didn’t move, you held out your hand. “Let’s go, Brahms, you can eat in the morning.”

Brahms swallowed hard and stared at your hand. He’d been dreaming about your hands since you’d arrived. The tenderness with which they dressed and tucked in the doll, the elegance of your fingers as you chopped vegetables for dinner or turned the pages of his books. He’d imagined how they’d feel touching him - on more _intimate_ parts, yes, but also combing his hair, buttoning his shirts, cupping his face or resting on his shoulders as you told him how handsome he was, how good, how much you _loved_ him…

And now were standing in his kitchen, with your sleep-mussed hair and your too-long pajama pants, _offering_ your hand to him with a small smile on your soft lips, and Brahms thought he’d never seen something so perfect or beautiful in his whole life.

Brahms set his plate down on the counter, not caring if the food spoiled before morning, and placed his hand in yours, hoping you wouldn’t notice how badly he was trembling. Your smile was as soft and warm as your hand as you led him out of the kitchen, switching off the light on the way out. He squeezed your fingers on the way up the stairs, and you squeezed back, and his heart felt as though it would burst.

And when your gentle hands tucked him in ( _him_ , not the doll!) and you pressed a second goodnight kiss to his mask without even having to be asked, he knew you’d love him too.


	6. Sweet Gestures - Asa Emory x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey! if it's not too much can you please write about Asa Emory with a very sweet s/o, they just compliment him everyday and do lovely things for him

You hummed softly to yourself as you wrapped Asa’s cold dinner in plastic wrap and set it in the fridge. Between his work at the university and his… _hobby_ … your lover often arrived home too late to eat dinner with you. You still cooked for two every night. Everyone deserved a good meal after a long day.

Asa’s van rolled into the driveway just as you finished wiping away the last of the crumbs. You practically skipped into the front entryway, clasping your hands behind your back to keep from fiddling with your hair or shirt. Asa’s footsteps up the front walk were slow and heavy, the way they sounded when he’d had a particularly trying day. You worried your bottom lip with your teeth. The transitional period between Asa and Collector (if that was, in fact, where he’d been tonight) was a precarious one that could tip in either direction at the smallest word or gesture. You knew he would never truly hurt you, no matter what state he was in, but the Collector’s particular harshness was something that you needed time to mentally prepare for. So instead of greeting him with a hug or a kiss, you let your gentlest smile settle on your lips and waited patiently as Asa entered the house.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, the way they always did when you saw his handsome face. (You had made a joke about it once, early on in your relationship, the entomologist giving you constant butterflies, and had been gifted with something nearing a laugh. It had been the highlight of your week.) You were a little ashamed at the relief you felt when you saw that Asa was still in his work attire, his hair still neatly combed. Work troubles were a mundanity you knew how to address, unlike Asa’s Collection. You loved both sides of him, you truly did, but you really weren’t in the mood for a bruised ass that night.

“Hi, handsome,” you murmured, stepping forward. Asa touched a hand to your back and placed a kiss on the top of your head before walking to his office and shutting the door without a single word. You refused to be offended by that, knowing it wasn’t meant as an affront to you. 

You re-entered the kitchen, opening the fridge to look at the surprise Asa had forbidden you from getting. Well, he hadn’t _explicitly_ forbade you, but the intent was clear. You gathered up Asa’s surprise, a knife, and two forks, and set out for his office, your smile a little broader. You knocked on the heavy wooden door, nudging it open with your hip when you heard the low rumble that was Asa-speak for _enter_.

Asa was hunched at his desk, rubbing his temples with one hand. He didn’t shift his gaze from the stack of papers before him until you set his surprise down near elbow. His brow smoothed for a moment, then furrowed again as he took in the small chocolate cake with its perfect red crown of sliced strawberries.

“I know you didn’t want anything,” you said softly. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of doing _nothing_ for your birthday.”

Asa was still staring at the cake like a mathematician at a particularly vexing equation. As seconds ticked past, you began to worry that you’d misjudged and made a grievous error. You didn’t _think_ birthday cake had played a role in his traumatic childhood, but maybe you had forgotten a detail. Maybe you had just delivered him the confectionery equivalent of a slap to the face on a silver plate on his _birthday_ -

Your panicked internal monologue was immediately cut off when Asa plucked a strawberry from the center of the cake and lifted it to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, admiring the growing heat in his eyes as you coquettishly licked away every trace of juice and frosting. Asa stood abruptly, sweeping you off your feet and making a beeline for the stairs.

“Wait!” you giggled. “You’re not gonna have any of your cake?”

“I don’t need it,” he replied, his voice a low growl that sent delicious shivers down your spine. “I have you.”


	7. Asa Emory General Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write some H/Cs for booty boy Asa??? NSFW and/or SFW???

  * Asa loves beautiful things, mostly in the form of fine art or natural phenomena. When it comes to humans, he prefers either classical or unusual beauty. The whole “Insta-baddie” look does nothing but annoy him.
  * He’s not a sapiosexual (he also thinks that term is stupid), but he does love a person with a sharp intellect and/or natural curiosity. He may not talk much, but he likes having the option of a stimulating conversation.
  * An actual grandpa. This man likes classical music, physical newspapers, tea, and old movies
  * Legit the sort of person who would watch _Battleship Potemkin_ or something and actually enjoy it
  * Take this man to a natural history museum and watch him read EVERY. SINGLE. PLAQUE.
  * He doesn’t have much of a concept of his own physical appearance. Aside from dressing appropriately for various functions, he honestly doesn’t give a shit about how he looks. He is genuinely confused about why a lot of the female staff and students at the university act so weird around him.
  * Also, this man would not realize you were flirting with him unless you smacked him across the face with a sign that said “I WANT YOUR DICK”
  * Your fascination with his ass… perplexes him
  * Asa and the Collector are two fairly different entities. He doesn’t have DID, but Asa-mode and Collector-mode have very different mannerisms.
  * Asa is very reserved and methodical. His manners are impeccable to the point of coldness. He knows how to pair wine with a meal. He is a bit of a neat freak and probably washes his hands a lot.
  * The Collector is the id to Asa’s ego. He’ll go elbow-deep in someone’s guts and get a boner while doing it. He’ll throw you in a bear trap if you piss him off. He’ll cut your tongue out and then finger you using your own blood as lube. ~~He’ll let Chromeskull rail the shit out of him.~~
  * Once you get past the obstacle of making him realize you actually wanna bang him…
  * He loves lingerie, the lacier and more delicate the better. He likes ripping it off you even more.
  * A big fan of bondage. Leashes and collars, cuffs, ropes, blindfolds, gags, all fair game - on you.
  * You know how elaborate all his traps are? Yeah, he’s gonna turn all that sexy brainpower on tying you down and tormenting you.
  * He has the patience and stamina of a _god_. If he wants to edge you for four hours, then honey you ain’t coming until the end of hour four, and he’ll act like he doesn’t have a raging boner the entire time.
  * While neither of them are gentle lovers, sex with Asa will feel closer to intimacy than sex with the Collector. Asa will go for a good two rounds on average and will most likely cum inside you. The Collector will go until you’re covered in cum and blood and physically can’t take anymore.
  * Smack his ass. You’ll pay for it dearly, but it’s what he deserves.




	8. Insecure Jesse Cromeans Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Jesse acts when he’s feeling insecure?? Any HCs for a big boy with issues?

  * I think Jesse feels insecure a _lot_ of the time, even before he lost his face.
  * This can be traced back to when he was a kid, especially after his growth spurt. A lot of people seem to think that big + quiet = dumb, so his classmates were probably awful to him.
  * (I seriously have an entire childhood planned out for Jesse based on nothing but that 2-second flashback in L2R2, but that’s a beast for a different post.)
  * That said, he has two main methods for dealing with the Bad Feelings:
  * The first is being a cocky little shit.
  * Can’t see the haters through my platinum-detailed Ray Bans.
  * Can’t hear the haters over the engine of my custom-build Ferrari.
  * Could a worthless piece of shit do _this?_ *chugs an entire bottle of Macallan in one sitting*
  * Will buy exorbitantly expensive things that he neither needs nor wants, and it’s usually up to Spann to get rid of it. Somewhere in Florida there’s a Goodwill that carries an unprecedented amount of designer clothing.
  * The second is to lash out at everyone and anyone in the vicinity.
  * After all, you can’t judge him if you’re crying, running away, or dead.
  * Things with be broken, knives will be thrown. The mirror smashing scene in L2R2 is a pretty good example.
  * Cocky Jesse is fairly easy to talk down, all you gotta do is stroke his ego a little ~~and maybe his dick~~. Make him feel wanted.
  * Angry Jesse is a lot harder to help. Every gesture of kindness you make is _obviously_ out of pity or because you want something from him. Your best bet is to give him time to cool off, and then smother him in lovin’.




	9. Getting Jesse Cromeans and Asa Emory To Watch Anime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you taking request? can we get an asa and jesse with an s/o trying to recommend them anime or getting them to watch it, i thought it be funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve watched a total of like 5 animes ever so bear with me on this one

##  **Asa Emory**

  * Asa strikes me as a snob when it comes to the media he consumes, so you wouldn’t have much luck getting him to watch anime, especially at the start of your relationship
  * You might be able to convince him to watch _Akira_ if you make an extensively researched and cited argument about its cultural influence and its standing as one of the best sci-fi movies of all time
  * But for the most part, the best you’ll be able to do is watch it by yourself, quietly, whilst in the same room as him, and pretend you don’t notice him sneaking glances at the screen, because he _definitely_ isn’t doing that, no _sir_
  * Once you’ve been together for awhile and he has a more vested interest in your happiness, he’ll be more likely to actually sit down and watch things _with_ you instead of adjacent to you
  * He generally prefers to watch things with artistic or intellectual merit, so you’ll have to be more selective in what you watch
  * He gets very grumbly when you watch anything Ghibli (because god forbid he let anyone witness him experiencing an Emotion)
  * “So the talking fire and sentient scarecrow and literal actual wizards weren’t an issue, but the happy ending was ‘unrealistic’?” *disgruntled Asa noises*



##  **Jesse Cromeans**

  * Jesse is way less picky than Asa about what he watches, so he’ll agree to pretty much anything you suggest
  * His eyes will only be on the screen about 50% of the time at best (he finds you a lot more interesting to watch, especially the noises you make when he trails his fingers over that one particular spot… I digress) so you’ll have to go with dubs over subs if you want him to have the slightest clue what’s going on
  * If you watch any action anime, he will try to replicate some of the fight moves, with varying levels of success
  * An actual teenager in the body of a grown man, with the tastes of a 14-year-old to match. Robots, ninjas, ~~tits~~ , monsters, etc. are all things he can enthusiastically get behind
  * The anime tiddy jokes will be relentless. If you can handle the consequences of your actions, then by all means, proceed




	10. Jesse Cromeans With A European S/O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe something with Jesse Cromeans and a European s/o (I am Romanian). A s/o with an accent, that stands out of the crowd? Idk 😅 He be like 'What are you doing here in Florida?' 🤣

  * The second Jesse hears your accent, he’s hooked. He’s like a kid with a shiny new toy ( _and this one makes cool noises!)_
  * He’ll try to impress you with his extensive worldly knowledge of your home, but unless you’re from England or France (or _maybe_ Italy), there is a very high probability that he’ll be spouting off random facts about the wrong country. Or if he does manage to get the country right, he’ll probably have some very misinformed ideas thanks to pop culture.
  * _(Russia is not the only country in Eastern Europe. Spain and Portugal are different countries._ Hostel _is a work of fiction. Oktoberfest is not a continent-wide event. Mayonnaise is not an instrument.)_
  * Try not to judge him too much for it; American schools are _abysmal_ at teaching geography, and our history education is very U.S./Western European centered.
  * Teaching him to swear in your native language is mandatory. He literally will not leave you alone until he knows at least five ways to tell someone to fuck off.
  * Jesse: _Do you know how to sign?_ S/O: “Yeah!” *signs in their native sign language* Jesse: _What the f u c k was that_
  * He loves, loves, _loves_ to hear you talk in your native language, especially during sex. He thinks it’s the hottest thing. He doesn’t have to know that you’re rambling about alien conspiracy theories or reciting the entire Bee Movie script, just as long as you punctuate it with the proper moans and sighs.
  * The best thing about having a rich-ass boyfriend is you can afford to visit home whenever you want, and it’s first class _every_ time, baby. ;)
  * _Please_ give this boy some culture. Jesse rarely leaves the States; the idea of being in completely unfamiliar territory without easy access to his network is very unsettling. But if you want to show him your home, he’ll agree and probably have a great time watching the way you light up as you talk about the architecture, the history of the cities, the special little spots you frequented growing up.
  * Cook some of your native dishes for him! It’s kind of hit or miss whether he’ll like them, but he’ll try at least a bite of anything.
  * If you want to annoy him, switch his phone to your language (this is especially effective if your language doesn’t use the Latin alphabet).
  * Expect some new decor to pop up in your home. Anything from fine art to touristy gift shop tchotchkes, as long as it brings a piece of your home to you.
  * _(Jesse, how the FUCK did you get your hands on a Faberge egg??)_




	11. Kiss - Brahms Heelshire x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a girl get a Drabble of seeing Brahms without the mask on now that we’re all thirsty 🥺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this I was like "how funny would it be if i accidentally posted this with only the first word"  
> just "hey can i request a drabble?" "NO"

“No!”

You threw yourself to the side just in time to avoid the vase as it shattered against the wall. It had been quite some time since Brahms had thrown (literally, _thrown_ ) a tantrum of this caliber, but apparently asking to clean to his mask had brought out his brattiest side. You had started by asking nicely, of course, but you had each gotten more and more insistent, which was how you’d ended up in the library with Brahms hurling everything he could find around the room.

“ _Fine!”_ you shouted, tossing your hands in the air. “Don’t wash, then! But you don’t get anymore goodnight kisses until that filthy thing is clean. It’s gross!”

“You can’t do that! It’s against the rules!”

“New rule!” you announced, snatching up a pen and marching over to the rules list on the wall. “Naughty boys who don’t wash properly don’t get goodnight kisses.” You underlined the new rule twice, turned around triumphantly, and were immediately hit in the face with what must have been the fattest book in the Heelshire library.

***

“Shit,” you mumbled, wincing as you prodded at the large bruise on your forehead. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.” Brahms may have been a grown man, but it was _your_ responsibility to be the adult in these situations. Losing your temper like that... One could not fight brattiness with brattiness. And boy, did you feel like the biggest brat in the world right now, pushing and prodding at something that was obviously a very sensitive topic for Brahms. Whether his issues were purely psychological or due to something physical, he was hiding his face for a _reason_. By pushing so hard and so callously, you hadn’t just been a bad nanny. You’d been a bad friend. And now Brahms had disappeared into the walls and you probably wouldn’t see him for days.

But you needed to apologize to him _now_ , so you went to his room and picked up the Brahms doll, which had been collecting dust in the corner ever since the real Brahms had shown himself to you months prior.

“I’m sorry, Brahmsy,” you said, enunciating clearly out of habit. “That was so mean of me. It wasn’t right. You don’t have to forgive me right now, but I hope we can still be friends.” You picked up a comb from the dresser and began to brush out the doll’s shiny locks. “Are we still friends?”

A quiet _thud_ sounded within the wall. Your hand froze.

“Brahms?”

Silence.

“Brahms, baby, I’m really, really sorry.” Your eyes burned with approaching tears, and you sniffed. “I was awful. Whatever your reason for... Your reasons for your mask are your business. And not wanting to take it off doesn’t make you bad, or naughty, and I shouldn’t have tried to punish you for it, and I’m so, so sorry.”

More silence.

You set the doll down and went to bed early, feeling miserable.

***

You awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of your bathroom faucet running. Pushing yourself upright in bed, you rubbed some of the sleep from your eyes and squinted at the doorway. Weak moonlight outlined a tall, dark figure hunched over the sink.

“Brahms?” He flinched at the sound of your sleepy voice, turning slightly towards you. The light glinted off something in his hand. Something smooth and pale...

He was washing his mask.

“Baby...” The word was barely more than a whisper, choked by a sudden rush of emotion. Brahms was tense, a rabbit ready to bolt. The enormity of the situation struck you all at once, and you clapped your hands over your eyes.

“It’s okay, Brahmsy, I’m not looking. I won’t look unless you say I can.” Sounds of shuffling from the bathroom. The tap shut off, footsteps creaking over the floorboards, coming to a stop by your bed. Your skin prickled with an intense awareness of the body next to you, your pounding heart nearly drowning out everything else in the room.

“Y/N.” Brahms’ voice was low and rough. A man’s voice. A wholly inappropriate flash of heat zinged down your spine and coiled in your lower belly as a calloused hand grasped your wrist and pulled your hand away from your eyes.

The moon illuminated high cheekbones, a strong brow, and a straight, Grecian nose. Soft, full lips parted around gasping breaths, so hurried he was nearly hyperventilating. Raised burn scars, which would probably be an angry pink in the daylight, traced over one side of his face, creating small patches in his eyebrow and thick beard. Honestly, you had been expecting some sort of disfigurement beneath the mask, and this wasn’t anywhere near as drastic as what you had been imagining. His face wasn’t _defined_ by the scars; they were just _there_. Brahms’ eyes glittered almost black in the moonlight, the abject _terror_ in them enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh, _Brahmsy_...” you breathed. “So handsome.” You lifted a hand and let it hover in the air between you. “Can I touch you?” Brahms hesitated, twisting his mask with long fingers, before giving a single jerky nod. You touched the unscarred side of his face first, running your thumb over his cheek and caressing the line where soft skin met the prickle of his beard. Slowly, so slowly, you raised your other hand to the scarred side. Brahms flinched at your gentle touch and you held still, waiting for him to push your hand away. Instead, his eyes slid shut and he covered your hand with his, leaning into your touch.

“So handsome,” you whispered again, choking on the intensity, the _intimacy_ of the moment. “My handsome boy.” Brahms reopened his eyes and held up the mask, showing you the clean porcelain.

“Kiss?” His voice was high and childlike again, and you were secretly relieved. If he’d asked you in that _other_ voice, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from jumping his bones.

“Of course.” You smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good boys get kisses.” You kissed his nose. “As many as they want.” You lowered your lips to his. They were soft and warm, and he tasted... You weren’t sure how to describe Brahms’ flavor, but as you pulled back, all you wanted to do was lose yourself in him and never return. Judging by the flush on Brahms’ face and the way his pupils were dilated, he felt very much the same.

“Again,” he demanded, and pulled you back to him without waiting for an answer. You hardly minded. One hand clutched at your waist, the other holding the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. His movements were sloppy and inelegant, but what he lacked in skill he more than made up for in passion. You tilted your head slightly, creating a better angle, and nipped slightly at his lower lip. Brahms growled at that, the sound shooting straight to your core.

“Pretty Y/N,” he mumbled, lips brushing yours with every word. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

“No, you,” you teased, smiling against his mouth. You were crying, or he was crying, or you were both crying, but either way your cheeks were damp and the moment was so perfect you felt you could fly. Brahms pulled back a few inches, gasping like he’d just run a marathon. You ran your thumbs over his cheeks in gentle circles, trying to communicate all your love through the simple touch. 

You pressed your forehead to his, then hissed and recoiled. The bruise he’d given you, all but forgotten, had chosen that moment to remind you of its existence. Brahms watched you rub at the throbbing mark with no remorse.

“I forgive you,” he said.

“Oh, good,” you replied sarcastically. “I was a little worried there that you hadn’t.” Brahms frowned, but before your big mouth could ruin the moment, you leaned forward and gave him another quick kiss.

“I’m teasing,” you reassured, pulling back the covers. “Come to bed, you silly, handsome boy.”

For once, Brahms did not argue.


	12. Luigi Largo with wife!Reader Soft Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good evening ma’am could I please request some soft Luigi Largo headcannons about him and wife!reader 🥺👉👈

  * Luigi will be _very_ possessive of you. Not in the “you cannot leave the house or breathe without my permission” way, but in the “if you even _look_ at my wife I will stomp you to death with my hooves” way.
  * You are the first thing in his life that’s _his_ , that he doesn’t have to share with anyone.
  * (My personal thoughts are that Luigi is the oldest child, Amber is the middle, and Pavi is the youngest, and they all have different moms.)
  * Luigi’s mom was pushed out of the picture when he was very young. All of his nannies and caretakers were inevitably passed down to Amber and Pavi, often long before Luigi was ready to let go. The public sees him as an extension of the Largo name rather than a person with thoughts and feelings. His father’s affection was hard-won, and the Largo children had to fight for it like dogs for scraps. Even his damn _organs_ aren’t his own (you think Amber’s the only one to go under the knife?).
  * But _you._
  * You are _his_. You wear _his_ ring. The love in your eyes in only for _him_ , and he’ll be cold and dead in the ground before someone takes that away from him.
  * You are also the only person who _ever_ gets to see his soft side. After a long day of yelling and stabbing, his favorite thing to do is curl up with you and just _be_ for a little while.
  * He cried in your arms when Rotti died. As complicated as their relationship was, he was still Luigi’s father, and it still hurt. 
  * Loves it when you play with his hair. Whether you’re running your fingers through it absent-mindedly, combing it down before a public event, pulling it during sex, ruffling his bedhead in the morning... your hands + his head = happy Luigi
  * He loves to give you massages. Yes, they often lead to sex, but they’re also a way for him to show how much he adores you without fumbling for words.
  * As much as he hates it when other people eye you up, he also takes great pride in showing you off. _Look at this incredible, gorgeous woman. Isn’t she amazing? Isn’t she beautiful? Isn’t she an angel? And she chose ME._ ~~ _SUCK IT, LOSERS._~~
  * More than anything else, he’s proud of you. Proud of the beautiful things you make, proud of your successful career, proud of the strength you show when fighting your everyday battles, of your quick wit, of your creativity, of your kindness and compassion, of _everything_.
  * He may be an angry, caffeine-addicted bastard, but he loves you so, so much.




	13. Brahms Heelshire x Reader - Afraid of Thunderstorms HCs + drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do hc for Brahms with a reader who’s scared of thunderstorms? Loving your writing so far!

  * Join the club! Brahms also hates thunderstorms.
  * As a child, it was just the noise that frightened him. After he learned that lightning strikes can set things on fire, he was terrified of them for a different reason.
  * Brahms’ room in the walls has been repurposed to an All-Inclusive Thunderstorm Shelter, including a TV with DVD player, a bigger bed, a veritable mountain of blankets and pillows, and a minifridge and microwave for all your snacking needs.
  * The second you hear the first rumble, he’s grabbing your hand and making a fast retreat to your hideaway.
  * Movie? In. Popcorn? Popped. Blankets? Snuggled. Hands? Held. ~~Dick? Out.~~



You had always been embarrassed by how panicked you got during thunderstorms. You knew all the science behind them - lightning heats air, air expands very fast, makes big boom - but that didn’t stop your lizard brain from flooding your system with adrenaline every time you heard a rumble. So it was actually something of a relief when you moved into Heelshire Manor and discovered that your new boyfriend was just as, if not _more_ , scared of thunderstorms than you were.

“Y/N!” Brahms cried, racing down the hall. Raindrops pelted the windows like rocks. “Y/N, retreat! _Retreat!”_ You ran towards his voice. As you rounded the corner, the two of you physically collided hard enough to knock you off your feet. A flash of lightning briefly lit the room, followed by a loud clap of thunder that had you literally jumping into Brahms’ arms. He yanked open the nearest wall entrance and plunged into the dark.

The next few minutes were a confusing jumble of limbs and pounding footsteps. You pulled your arms and legs in as tightly as possible to avoid catching a knee or elbow on a support beam. Brahms burst into your haven, dropped you unceremoniously, and dove headlong into the nest of blankets. Luckily, you were used to it, and were able to prevent yourself from falling on your ass for the second time in five minutes. You brushed yourself off with shaky hands and walked over to the stack of DVDs while Brahms got cozy on the bed.

“What do you want to watch?”

“Planet Earth.” Brahms’ voice was slightly strained, and you had to fight back a laugh at the sight of your grown boyfriend fighting with five different blankets twisted around his head. You popped in the DVD, feeling your heart rate already starting to calm. This deep in the house, the storm was mostly muffled, and once the show started it would be nearly impossible to hear.

“Popcorn or ice cream?” you asked over your shoulder. It was a Rule of the house, one you had instituted, that healthy foods were not allowed during thunderstorms. Unsurprisingly, it was one of the only things Brahms never fought you on.

“Can’t we have both?”

“Absolutely, but not at the same time. Which one do you want first?”

“Popcorn, please.”

You smiled at his good manners as the microwave hummed. You shook the popcorn into your favorite polka dot bowl and made your way over to the bed, where Brahms had managed to sort out his blanket struggles and had set his mask to the side. He’d discovered that it was very difficult to eat and watch TV at the same time when he had it on. Secretly, you were grateful, since it gave you more time to see his handsome face, but you’d never tell him that for fear that his shyness would make him stop.

“Move over.” You nudged his leg with your knee. Brahms pouted and pulled you into his lap instead, enfolding you in a blankety embrace and shoving his hand into the popcorn bowl. You pressed a kiss to his jaw and settled in as David Attenborough started talking about grasslands. It almost made you hate thunderstorms a little less.

Almost.


	14. Pitfalls of Modern Technology - Asa Emory x Female Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your writing is so awesome!! You’re doing an amazing job. :) Would you write a fic if a female reader trying her best to ask Asa our on a date and him just not understanding why anyone would want that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asa only appears for like half a second at the end, sorry.  
> I got caught up in self-indulgent OC banter.

“Hey, Cas, you’re pretty oblivious, right?”

Cas choked mid-sip and narrowly avoided spilling his drink over the pile of student drawings on the coffee table. You had invited your best friend over to watch scary movies, greet trick-or-treaters, and get wasted, as was your long-standing Halloween tradition. Now, with the candy bowl and the pitcher of spiked punch both half empty, you finally felt sufficiently drunk to bring up the issue that had been on your mind all day.

“I’m not _that_ oblivious!” Cas protested.

“You didn’t realize Alex was flirting with you until six months after they gave up and started dating someone else.”

“Touche, and also fuck you. What’s on your brain?” You sighed and tore open a fun-size pack of M&Ms.

“How the hell do I ask out a guy who doesn’t even seem to realize that I like him?”

“Have you tried flirting with him?” You glared at Cas and popped a candy in your mouth.

“Yeah, no shit I’ve tried flirting with him, dummy. It just bounces right off. Also it’s hard because he’s so serious and I wanna stay professional, and I don’t know how to professionally say ‘I want your dick’.” Cas tossed his head back and laughed.

“How a woman who writes for a living can be so bad with words is beyond me…” He shot upright, eyes lighting up. “Wait, are you talking about Bugman? You’re trying to hook up with the Bugman?”

“Oh my god, stop _calling_ him that!” you screeched, pelting Cas with a mini Twix bar. “You make him sound so.... _un-sexy._ ” You tossed back the rest of the M&Ms like you were taking a shot. “But yes. And _for the record_ , he’s an entomologist with a PhD.” Cas held his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay. So if you wanna seduce Dr. Bugman--” He effortlessly deflected the Butterfinger you sent flying at his head. “You have a graduate degree in scientific communication, how do you suck so much at this?”

“It’s different!” you protested. “I don’t wanna fuck the science. Also, I can sit down and re-write it however many times I need to.” For some reason, this sent Cas into hysterics. You raised an eyebrow and sipped your punch until he was able to choke out a few words.

“Send… him… an email…” 

You pictured sending Asa a letter like some lovelorn Victorian debutante and immediately cracked up.

“God, could you fucking imagine?” You reached for your laptop and opened your email. “‘Dear Dr. Emory, I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to you about an issue of utmost importance: specifically, your dick.”

By the time you and Cas had finished composing your imaginary letter, you were both wheezing. You tossed your laptop to the side, leaving the message in your drafts alongside several other emails. Over the next few hours, you handed out candy, watched Tippi Hedren scream her head off, and polished off the rest of the punch. Rather, you, specifically, polished off the rest of the punch. Cas had backed off, saying he needed a clear head if he was going to decipher six-year-olds’ chicken scratch.

“Does that say ‘ _Mr. Uncle Cas_ ’?” you slurred, looking over his shoulder at one of the drawings. Cas groaned and put his face in his hands.

“Livvie’s got almost half the class calling me that now,” he said mournfully.

“I knew I liked that kid,” you cackled, mentally high-fiving the administrator who had placed Cas’s niece in his first grade class.

“Of course you do; she’s a horrible little gremlin,” he said fondly.

The rest of the evening passed quietly, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. Cas finished grading the rest of his students’ assignments - the prompt was “If I was a monster,” which had resulted in some extremely entertaining drawings and stories - and you slowly melted into your couch. Around midnight, you declared the stream of trick-or-treaters officially dried up, and Cas headed out. He paused in your doorway, one hand on the knob.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hmmmm.”

“...Mister Doctor Professor Bugman.”

You threw the entire candy bowl at his head.

***

***

You were almost sick with nerves when you walked into Asa’s office on Monday morning. _I am an adult, I am an adult, I am an adult._ The mental chant did not make you feel very adult-like.

“Dr. Emory? May I speak with you for a moment?” You had been hoping against all hope that Asa hadn’t even seen the email, but the icy look in his eyes told you he had. He nodded. Once.

“I…” You twisted your fingers together nervously. _Just get on with it, Y/N._ “I wanted to apologize for the email you received over the weekend. I was trying to send you a portion of the article for review and clicked the wrong button. My friend and I were a bit… overzealous with our festivities on Friday, it was never meant to be sent.” The words came out in one long rush. Asa remained silent the whole time.

“And do you often mock your work associates when you are intoxicated, Ms. L/N?” he asked at last.

“Do I…” Lost in the depths of his dark eyes, you found yourself scrambling for words. And you noticed something else in his expression.

Hurt.

“Dr. Emory. Asa.” He started slightly at your use of his first name. “The tone of that email was unfortunate,” you forced yourself not to wince at your incredible understatement, “but I can assure that the sentiment was completely honest. I like you. I find you attractive. I would have liked to go on a date with you, but I supposed I’ve demolished my chances of that happening now.” Your courage began to fade as fast as it had appeared. “I’m sorry again. I acted very unprofessionally.” You turned on your heel and fled his office before he could respond, cheeks burning.

***

You received an email from Asa that evening. No subject line, not even a sentence long, but it sent your heart soaring.

> _Friday. 8:00 pm._


	15. Arguing with Bo Sinclair Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bo Sinclair angst/argument with his s/o HCs? Like let’s be real he would honestly try to be as hurtful as he could with words and if it just kept going on it would resort to him being violent. And all while keeping a straight face turning sinister. Like we know that but how would it go?

  * If arguing was an Olympic sport, Bo would be the Michael Phelps of arguing
  * Half the arguments he has don’t even mean anything to him; they’re basically ways to pass the time
  * (That doesn’t mean he’ll be nicer, though. Bo has two arguing modes: mean and meaner.)
  * But say you get him really, _genuinely_ pissed off. Maybe you threatened one of his brothers. Maybe you questioned his ability to run Ambrose. Maybe you _really_ fucked up and sided with one of the victims...
  * There is no getting out of the screaming match you just provoked (or the screaming barrage, since Bo doesn’t really care if you scream back)
  * If you try to walk away, he will grab you and pull you back. _Hard._ Try it enough times and you’ll end up duct taped to the nearest chair.
  * He’ll temporarily stop seeing you as a person. Your counter-arguments and emotional responses will mean nothing to him. You are just a Thing That Has Caused Him Rage. You could be crying on the floor and it would barely register. It can take _days_ for him to cool off enough afterwards to realize the damage he’s done.
  * He’ll throw and break things, and he won’t give a shit if you get hit by said things.
  * Manhandling. He won’t throw a punch or actually _try_ to seriously hurt you, but be prepared for him to drag you around by the arm or hair, pin you against walls and tables, or grab you by the throat. And even though he won’t try to kill you, he’ll threaten you just enough to make you uncertain...
  * Uses size to his advantage, especially if you’re considerably smaller than him. See the point above, but he’ll also get right up in your personal space, huffing and flexing like a really pissed off bull. King of Looming Menacingly.
  * The argument takes place on Bo’s terms, on Bo’s timeline. No matter how many times you apologize, the fight isn’t done until Bo has screamed everything he wants to scream. And once he’s said his piece, there is literally nothing you can do to make him stay and hear you out.
  * Overall, being on the receiving end of Bo’s undiluted rage is a very scary experience. And because he’s a prideful, emotionally constipated bastard, it’ll take him a long time to say he’s sorry.
  * (Your best bet is to go to Lester or Vincent for comfort. They’ll shame him into apologizing.)




	16. Taking Your Slasher Ice Skating Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin

## Billy Lenz

  * Based on where he lives, I imagine Billy already knows how to skate
  * Take him to one of those ultra-Christmasy outdoor setups with the pretty lights and a big tree in the middle
  * Matching sweaters and hand-holding are required
  * Feed him an endless amount of candy canes and hot chocolate and watch his sugar-buzzed ass go flying like a wind up toy



## Jason Voorhees

  * Your biggest challenge is going to be getting him to understand that it's just a few inches of ice on a solid floor and you aren't trying to trick him into the middle of a lake
  * Once you get past that hurdle, big boy is surprisingly graceful
  * People will make lots of hockey jokes about his mask, which you'll need to explain to him later
  * He's used to everyone finding him scary, so when you tell him that his mask made people happy, he'll get all shy and blushy
  * Wants to go again
  * (Maybe he'll wear a Santa hat over the mask next time)



## Ghostface (Billy Loomis and Stu Macher)

  * Can you skate while your hand is on someone's ass? Billy is gonna find out.
  * (Related: can you skate while someone's hand is on your ass? You're gonna find out.)
  * Stu is weirdly, unfairly good at skating.
  * He'll literally skate circles around you and Billy and skate backwards whenever he passes you just to show off.
  * Billy shoves him into the barrier at least once (or penalty box, if you're at an indoor rink)
  * Expect long debates on the relative merits of icicles vs. ice skates as a murder weapon, as well as the feasibility of death by zamboni



## Thomas Hewitt

  * Absolutely will not get on the ice
  * He is a good Texas boy who prefers to walk on good Texas dirt, thank you very much
  * He will enjoy watching you, though
  * Secretly afraid you're going to fall and hurt yourself, but it helps if you smile and wave at him every time you pass
  * Very enthusiastic about cupping your face and holding your hands to warm up your cheeks and fingers after.
  * Oh, you didn't ask him to? Too bad, he's doing it anyway.



## Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

  * DO NOT
  * This man already falls on his ass enough when wearing normal shoes on normal ground
  * And it's a _long_ way down
  * (I had a mental image of him wiping out face-first and his mask just ricocheting off the ice like _GONG_ and made an unholy noise)
  * Will 100% murder someone with a ice skate
  * It's a knife glued to a shoe, did you expect him NOT to?
  * There's a good chance the ice skate will still be attached to you when he kills someone with it



## Bubba Sawyer

  * Is convinced the skating aid is part of the whole experience and insists on using it, even if it becomes apparent that he doesn't need it
  * Wears a hat with fluffy pompoms
  * Orders the biggest hot cocoa they have and gets whipped cream on his nose
  * He's having the time of his life. It's like going on a walk with you, but even _more_ fun!
  * Chop Top and Nubbins are having a full-on brawl in the middle of the rink



## Bo Sinclair

  * Absolutely sucks at skating and is really pissed about it
  * Refuses to use a skate aid even though he really needs it
  * Takes you down with him every time he falls
  * Eventually declares that ice skating is fuckin' stupid and also if you tell anyone about this, he'll kill you
  * (Side note: I think Bo would actually enjoy watching a hockey game. Bundle him up, stick a beer in his hand, and watch the stick bois body slam each other)



## Vincent Sinclair

  * Like Thomas, he enjoys watching you skate from the sidelines
  * Doesn't want to try it himself because he's afraid he'll fall and break his mask
  * (He might give it a shot if you sneak into the rink after hours, when it's just the two of you)
  * He'll make little sculptures of you skating afterwards. Even if you're not that great, the figurines will have the poise and grace of an Olympic figure skater



## Lester Sinclair

  * The best skater of the Sinclair bros by virtue of the fact that he's not afraid to fall or look like a fool
  * That doesn't mean he's _good_
  * My man just goes for it
  * Literally bouncing off the walls
  * _He's little confused, but he's got the spirit_
  * Wants to race and will not take "no" for an answer
  * Every child there thinks he's the best thing they've ever seen
  * Seriously, he has a devoted pack of 7-year-olds mirroring his every move by the end of the day



## Bonus: Jonesy





End file.
